


All in a Row

by voleuse



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-06
Updated: 2004-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The storybook comes to a close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a Row

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime before Spike and Dru arrive in Sunnydale.

_i. it's been a long time_

Prague looks like a fairy tale, she thinks, like princesses and lords and brilliant, wild horses.

She plans to dance with them all before they die. Waltzes and swaying tangos, like a lively ballet.

She'll dance them to death, she will, and their screams will sound like laughter.

Spike creeps up behind her on the bridge. She can see him, skulking in the mist. He thinks that she only sees with her eyes.

She squeals as he grabs her from behind, anyway, because it pleases him.

It's only fair, she thinks. He pleases her in innumerable ways. A thousand have died at his hands, by his word, simply to make her smile.

She glimpses, down the boulevard, a group of nervous girls.

Three more to add to the count.

_ii. euphrosyne_

The first is the youngest, a bright, giggling girl who should know better than to wander the dark streets without escort.

They find her at the entrance of a shop. It, ostensibly, sells perfumes and salts, but Drusilla can feel the weak charms bundled in the girl's hand.

"Bought a magic spell, did you?" Spike approaches her first, as she crosses their alley. "Trying to trap some lad between your legs?"

The girl pales, save for two angry red spots on her cheeks. "I--"

"You want him," Drusilla murmurs, measures the longing trailing about the girl, like taffy. "For...your sister. You want him to love her, because she loves him."

The girl is ghost-white now. "How did you know?" She leans against the brick, the braided herbs falling from her hand.

"She can see it." Spike grins, teeth glinting sharply by the light of the streetlamp. "All the little thoughts in your lovely, little head." He leans beside her, runs a hand over her curls.

"Can you see the future?" the girl asks.

Drusilla nods, slowly. "I can see your future."

The girl stares, sketches a cross in the air. Spike giggles.

"Do you want to know what I see?"

The girl nods, crosses her arms. "Yes. Please."

Drusilla trails her hand over the girl's shoulder, down her arm. Whispers in her ear. "Death."

She shivers. "When do I die?"

Drusilla changes, feels Spike shift beside her. "Now."

She laughs as the girl's eyes widen, and covers her mouth to stop the scream.

_iii. hearts to the past_

"Tasty bird, that was," Spike says, slinging his arm over Drusilla's shoulders. "Glad you found her."

She hums at the pleasure beating out of him like a heartbeat. "You liked her."

It's not a question, but he answers it anyway. "Well, yeah."

"She was pretty."

He eyes her carefully. "Yeah."

She halts their walk, glares at him pleadingly. "Prettier than me?"

He takes her head between his hands. "No one," he declares, "is more beautiful than you." Kisses her on the cheek, then the other. "No one is more vicious than you." Kisses her on the nose. "No one is more deliciously wicked than you," he kisses her lips, "my darling," again, "sweet," again, "Drusilla."

She licks at the traces of blood on his lips, smiles when he moans, hardens against her. She bites his lower lip, hard. "Now."

He glances up and down the boulevard, and she sees protests flicker through his mind, human and fleeting.

When he shrugs and grins, she claps, approving.

They fuck on the cobblestones of the street, and she growls at the ladies that gasp, passing by.

"Only you," he pants into her ear, "always."

She knows his words are lies, sees them folding to ash, feels chains binding her, with no promise of proper pain.

She pays the visions no mind, not yet.

They couple until a large man, of some authority, perhaps, demands that they stop.

They obey.

Then they kill him.

It's only fair.

_iv. thalia_

The next is the oldest. They find her in her courtyard, sitting patiently on a bench. She smiles widely as they approach. "Good evening."

Drusilla trembles, and Spike clutches her hand. She tries not to laugh; doesn't want to give the game away.

"Good evening to you, young lady," Spike responds. His accent is passable. "Your sister asked us to deliver a message."

A frown passes over the girl's face. "She did? Where is she?"

"She's delayed," Drusilla manages, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "Couldn't be here."

"Is she all right?" the girl asks, and Drusilla can see the air purple with memories and concern. There's a word for that, she thinks, but it doesn't exist yet.

Spike's already prowling about the girl, circling like every good predator should. "Sweet girl, your little sister."

"Y-yes."

"Literally, I mean," and he hops onto the bench next to her. "Do you have another?"

"One more," Drusilla answers, before the girl can. "She'll be the last."

"She's actually," the girl corrects," the middle child, but I don't understand." She flinches away from Spike's hands, toying with her hair. "What do you mean?"

Drusilla skips forward, drapes herself on the girl's lap, drops her mouth on hers in a light, innocent kiss. "She should play, too."

The girl whimpers as Drusilla and Spike feather her throat with their lips. "What do you want?"

"You, my sweet." Drusilla changes, drags her teeth and draws blood. "Now let's hear you cry."

_v. wishing well fools_

She's following the last, the middle child. The one she wants, and she's cloistered in the house. Awake like a little mouse, and Drusilla wants to play.

Spike's impatient, and she bats at him when he starts to complain. His stumble breaks a vase, and he curses.

They would have lost it eventually, Drusilla knows. Sees it shatter under a burning beam, sees it clutched in some brute's hands. This family, she knows, will not end well.

Better she end it first.

"Don't fancy playing hide and seek, love," he grumbles after snapping a servant's neck. "What are we looking for?"

"Shhhh." She hears a panicked footstep, two floors up. "She thinks we won't find her."

"Who?" He looks up at the ceiling. "The last sister, you mean?"

"Yeah," she drawls, scratching her nails against the walls. "Yeah."

"How do you know it isn't a maid up there?"

"She's crying," she explains, as if he were a child. "Only she could cry like that."

"Why do you want this one so much?" he asks, and knocks over another vase, deliberately.

"Because," she growls, "she shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

She feels the girl, two stories down, and knows the girl can feel her, too.

Like minds.

"I'm already here," she murmurs to Spike. "Only one of me."

"Yeah," he agrees, and he doesn't understand at all.

_vi. aglaea_

The last girl is waiting for them. She's ready when they appear, armed, laughably, with a candlestick.

Drusilla laughs, shrill, and gestures widely with her hands. "You know that won't work."

The girl drops her makeshift weapon. "I know."

Drusilla stalks forward, smiles as the girl backs up, hits the wall. "How dare you?"

"You killed them," the girl whispers. "Why?"

Drusilla whirls about, sees Spike lounging in a chair. Knows she has the stage to herself.

Curtsies, first, before the prologue.

"That's how the story goes, little one."

"Your story," the girl pleads, and Drusilla sees Angelus swirling about them, like fog. "Your story, not mine."

"It's all one story," Drusilla snarls. "It always ends the same way."

"How," the girl says, for form's sake. She already knows.

For Spike's sake, Drusilla answers.

"It always ends."

Then the girl nods, straightens from her cowering posture. "Not always," she replies.

Drusilla stops, puzzled. That wasn't part of it, she knows. "What do you mean?" She can taste the girl's blood on her tongue.

"You didn't," the girl mumbles in reply, and kneels. Clutches Drusilla's skirt. "I don't have to." Offers her throat.

Drusilla can see Spike sitting forward, eager. Expectant.

She strokes the girl's hair, gently. Takes her chin in hand.

Wrenches swiftly.

Watches knowledge fade from the girl's eyes.

"Only one," she pronounces.

It's done.

_vii. gone are the ribbons and bows_

They plow through the rest of the household quickly. Father and mother first, and Drusilla revels in the richness of their blood. Drains them dry, to make sure.

Then, maids, groomsmen, and a young, wild-eyed man. Spike declares him heir before killing him, and they laugh over his body.

They find a great ballroom and waltz through it. Improperly, because Drusilla decides her skin needs moonlight to keep it's pale hue. She sheds her bloodstained gown and writhes against Spike, singing.

"Is this what you wanted, pet?" He worships her with his hands, guides her to the floor, and laves prayers onto her body.

"They're quiet now," she moans, "and I'm all alone."

"Not alone," he grunts as he enters her. "You've got me."

She twines her legs about him, and they make love in a house full of corpses.

It's the way her stories always end.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary, and some section titles taken from "Pretty Maids All In A Row" by The Eagles. The other section titles are the names of the three Graces/Charities: Euphrosyne (mirth), Thalia (good cheer), and Aglaea (splendor).


End file.
